


The Sweet, Simple Things of Life

by MountainRose



Category: The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Arranged Marriage, Gleeful Tony, M/M, Omega Tony Stark
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-04
Updated: 2016-09-26
Packaged: 2018-07-29 09:13:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,227
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7678648
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MountainRose/pseuds/MountainRose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tony met Steve expecting an Alpha, a political marriage, a long, hard life. </p>
<p>He should have dreamed bigger.</p>
<p>(He should have dreamed of something fluffier, because this fic is unrepentant fluff, 100%, no holds barred.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Hello soldier

Tony pushed the gate open and stepped onto an old fashioned cobble path, leaving the car and Jarvis behind, and was swamped by concentrated Alpha scent, purer than anything he’d ever smelt. 

Most A’s had... something, smoke, or earth, or (if Tony was lucky) a hot-iron scent layered on top, but _this..._ it reached straight into his brain and yanked.

_Alpha._

Fuck. _Fuckfuckfuck--_

The house was low, sprawling with a red shingle roof and white boards, the vast porch military-neat with a row of _tomatoes_ growing against the planks. A pair of boots were lined up in the sun, their tongues hanging out to bleach and a snake stick hung by the door. Tony wouldn’t even have known what it _was_ if Jarvis hadn’t hastily told him everything he could about the plains on the drive over. 

They hadn’t been able to see each other, to _speak_ for three months, and then they had spent two hours passing questions across the handbrake. Tony hadn’t seen his parents since before sequestration, either; to break the bond of family, hah. He Hadn’t felt the absence.

Some bond. 

He took a deep breath and, with one last look back at Jarvis’ anxious face, walked up the garden path. No driveway, just brick cobbles between rows of fruit trees shading an ankle-high meadow. There was a motorcycle up against the house, pristine anodized blue shining in the midday sun. A box of tools had been left out on the brick, too, clean socket wrenches and a polishing cloth sharing space with a few woodworking tools and a can of polish. Tony paused, and nudged the can and the cloth over into the bike's shade with the toe of his shoe. 

He took a deep breath. Possibility of accidental fires aside, the guy was obviously handy, and he took care of his tools. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad. He could work on his A’s motor, or they could ride out together. 

Okay. Yeah, he’d suggest that. Good bonding activity. 

He’d had enough lectures from the O's at the temple to at least have an idea what he was getting into, and he’d squeezed them for as much information as possible before they let him go. God, the one and only chance he’d have to speak freely to other O's; he’d made the most of it. He was gonna miss Pepper like he was missing an arm.

The Alpha’s scent rose; he must have seen the car. Tony needed to go and knock. 

He lingered in the shade of an apple tree and took a deep breath of that absurdly pure, clean scent. It didn’t have any aggression in it, at least, but there was nothing _else_ either, perfectly smooth and even. They’d said he was a veteran, maybe...he was dissociating? Or sedated up to his eyeballs. He could do this, sure he could, but holy hell... 

He had power here, he could help this guy, surely. _Deep breath. Okay, walk._

He hopped up the steps and knocked without thinking about it, because he wouldn’t do it if he did. He knew he’d angst over three knocks or two, whether his footsteps were dainty enough-- so, no. 

The screen tapped obligingly on the door, a polite three clacks, and Tony stepped back, tucking his hands into his pockets. Out of the shade, the sun beat on his back and heated his hair up, making it difficult to stay tense. It was a nice place, nicer than home, less full of the rank stench of old arguments and a city full of hierarchies.

His eyes burned for a second, horrified that he was _relieved_ \-- he was going to his forever home, if this guy was awful, he’d still be stuck here-- he could _die_ and he was relieved to be out of that _fucking house._

The door opened just in time for his A to catch him scrubbing his sleeve over his eyes. 

“Hello, my name’s Steve Ro-- Um, are you okay?” The A stood in the doorway, frozen like a baby deer with eyes just as big and as blue as the sky out here. 

“Hi, uh, yeah, I just, yeah. Tony Stark, nice to meet you.” He awkwardly held out a hand and Steve fumbled the screen the rest of the way open to shake it. 

My, what big hands you have, grandma. Tony stared at his olive skin vanishing under tanned white and turned his hand over to look at Steve’s knuckles without even thinking about it. There was white paint embedded in the creases between his pinky and ring finger and his skin was soft and smooth except for a tell tale darkening over his knuckles. A boxer. 

“I'm still decorating, sorry. Just got undercoat down in the dining room, haven't chosen a top coat yet, you can help me if you like.” 

Tony stared and felt his hand start to tremble. He should have been so afraid. He should have been steeling himself for the kind of blows fists that size could deliver. But he wasn't.

He was thinking that Ty wouldn't dare get in range of those hands, that Howard couldn't match them. Fresh, fat, tears rolled down his face when he blinked and he couldn't tell _what_ he was feeling. And _hell_ what would the A think of him? What happened to ‘you have power here, Tony’? 

“Aw, jheese, Mr. Stark... C’mon, let's get your things, OK? You'll feel better with a bit of nest in a new place.”

Steve pulled him towards the car and he followed like he was floating. There was an uncomfortable buzzing sensation between his knees and his feet, and he couldn't feel his toes at all. Steve’s alpha scent lingered in a trail behind him, leading Tony along. Was that...what being an O was going to be like? Steve was the first A he'd met since seclusion, would they all smell like _this_ now _?_

The sound of a very familiar engine worked its way into his ears against a humming thrumming sound that felt like it was coming from inside his head, and Tony blinked his eyes back into focus. Jarvis.

“Hello, J, this is Steve. Captain Rogers.” 

Jarvis smiled tightly. “Captain, welcome to the future. I hear you’ve had a tough time of it.”

The A blushed and rubbed the back of his neck obnoxiously, alpha pheromones bloomed in a cloud. “It’s not every day you wake up in the future, sir,” he said, almost shyly. What the hell? “I’m getting there though,” he continued. “The house is very nice, not much in common with wartime Europe.”

“I’m glad to hear it. I trust you’ll explain your circumstances in full to Mr. Stark?” J said. It was only barely a question rather than an order and seriously, they were getting Tony’s hackles up. What the fuck.

Steve sputtered and nodded in a weird, sideways way. “Of course! I-- I thought someone would have explained already! Didn’t they-- I mean, I’d have rather--” 

“Security clearances, I’m afraid. Why don’t you introduce yourself, Captain?” 

Steve looked over at Tony and-- hah, comfortingly enough, he looked terrified. Tony managed a smile for him, the poor guy’s eyes were darting all over the place, and Tony was still floating on a relieved cloud of confusion. 

“Um, I’m Steve Rogers, ah, they called me Captain America? Back in the day.”

Tony stalled. _The_ Captain. Oh god, that was Captain America, he’d only been back for a few months, Tony had-- _god_ , heard about it, just before he presented and was whisked away, he hadn’t connected ‘Steve Rogers’ and _the man in the tights._ Four and fifty four years older than him, straight out of being _frozen in ice for half a century_. Anxiety clawed its way up Tony’s belly, sharp and writhing. No just a veteran, not drugged up, or dissociating, Steve was one hundred percent scientifically perfect Alpha. Tony drew a sharp breath and snapped his jaw closed; he’d been gaping, oh god, not a good impressions, not for _Captain America!_

This was why he was here, this was the pebble that made the wave. The man was a hero, the alphaest A in a century, and he was fresh off the battlefield. Of course they’d shove an O at him, he’d lost everything. Peg’s oblique warnings about shock and battle fatigue made much more sense now. ...Oh, oh god, so did her sad, mournful eyes, _Tony’s alpha was Aunt Peggy’s sweetheart._

She’d also told him how to throw a man twice his size over his shoulder. Just in case-- In case _what_? Steve hurt him in his sleep? The man had fought Hydra in the darkest, most intense fighting in forty years-- 

He’d had PTSD training, military O training, he could handle his A’s guns if he was asked, but this was _the Captain._ His heart stuttered like a double, maybe triple, palpitation, and he scrambled to hide the jolt and keep his shit together. Jarvis was stalling for him, the glorious, wonderful bastard, and Tony tried to smooth out his face and breathe steady, keep his heart happy. Adrenalin was fucking awful. 

“I met Mr. Stark after your time, when Tony was born, he has always been full of praise for you..” Jarvis was saying. “You hold a place in the family now, and we couldn’t be happier.” 

_The guy knew Howard, oh god, what if they’d talked while Tony was away, what’d dad fucking told him--_

Steve sounded pleased, if abashed. “Well, as long as Tony’ll have me,” he looked over at Tony, who felt a blush take over his ears. “My territory is yours, Mr. Jarvis.”

“I must say, the orchard looks very fine indeed.” 

Tony slunk around the back of the car and popped the trunk; he desperately needed something to do, his brain was spinning like a top and he couldn’t get his heart to slow back down.

They appeared around the bumper and Tony hefted his dowry bundle into his arms. The smells of the temple, the orange oil Pepper’d been wearing, finally did the trick and he took a deep breath. Holy hell, Captain America. He was married to a comic book hero. The Captain could carry his other stuff; he had the muscles for it, Tony thought hysterically. 

“I’ve been working on it since, ah. Since They sent me here. It needed a lot of pruning, and that meant a trip to the library for handbooks-- anyway, it kept me occupied. Productive, after everything.” Steve picked up his trunk like it was full of bedding (it wasn’t) and stood there awkwardly, looking up his own garden path towards the house. 

He glanced Tony’s way after a few moments and, caught staring, Tony ducked his head into his bundle. Steve was right of course; the nesting smell on his dowry was leveling him out. He felt the weight of Steve’s eyes for a moment longer, then relaxed with a shiver when he heard Steve’s feet move on the dirt.

“Mr. Jarvis, I think you’d better come in for a little while,” Steve said, the sound of the gate letting Tony know he was heading back to the house. 

Just at Tony’s shoulder, J called back. “I think I better had. We’ll be right there, sir.” 

The sun beating down on his hair and the nape of his neck warmed him right through, but it was the hand in the small of his back that unfroze him. 

“Come along, my boy, let’s get you out of this sun.” 

Tony followed the press of Jarvis’ hand after Steve, and by the time they reached the porch, only to be greeted by Steve’s nervous smile, Tony had his courage back. He trotted up the steps with his head held high and Steve’ smile grew a little stronger.

His A was worried about him. Interesting. Steve was supposed to be this...paragon, a singularly top notch fella, best man in America. No wonder Tony wasn’t afraid of him. It was a hell of a shock, though. Like being told you’re gonna be the First Lady.

The foyer was a big, open space, littered with tools and decorating supplies, with a rug rolled up in the corner between the far wall and the stairs. Steve was living in shambles, for all that the outside was neat and tidy. Big, open archways to left and right showed sun-drenched rooms with couches and a TV on one side and a dining set pushed aside in favor of a trestle table and mitre saw on the other. 

The house smelled like sawdust, paint and warm fabric. And like Steve, but... that went without saying. It felt good, right. The scents mingled with his nesting smell in a good way, like it fitted together. Okay, good signs. The living room was clearer than the dining room --lived in rather than worked in-- and there were videos lying around, nice calm movies like _Angie and Angela_ and oldies from the Captain's time.

“I mostly live in the kitchen at this time of day; it’s too hot on the south side. This way.” 

Tony twitched and followed Steve through a big oak door. The air on the other side was noticeably cooler and Steve lingered with his hand on the door, and when Jarvis was through too, closed it behind them. 

“Please, sit. I’ve got coffee, and lemonade?” Steve...fussed. Tony sat down, Jarvis didn’t, instead setting out glasses without asking Steve; apparently they were having lemonade. He was a butler, Tony thought, his dowry balanced on end next to his leg, this came naturally to him. 

It wouldn’t come naturally to Tony. Not enough transistors involved. 

Steve poured from a pitcher, homemade pink lemonade, and slid a glass towards Tony with a nervous gesture. Without anything to do, his hands curled against each other, fingers interlocking and sliding apart again. Steve was all movement, nervous energy, while Tony was still. After a minute, he watched the condensation bead on his glass rather than look at his A. 

This was him.

This pause, this was his space to turn his head on the right way. He needed to breathe, and to think, and to get his head around the man sitting opposite. Did the serum protect him from PTSD? Did he get nightmares? His training-- he had no idea how much of that would apply, did world war two vets freak out over things beside the road? IED’s were a new invention-- Maybe the whistling scream of fireworks? A backfire sounded like a gun whether it’s from the forties or the eighties, he’d look out for that. And Steve could lift a _tank_ off it’s treads, he could break Tony in half if-- But the thought petered out when he glanced back up at Steve. 

Because he didn’t think he would. 

There was no big gorilla of a man here, just... a broken young soldier. Who made them pink lemonade. His paint-stained fingers wrapped around his own glass, drawing in the condensation.

“Thank you. This is. Nice,” Tony managed eventually. 

The silence broken and Steve relaxed, a bit. He took a drink, and Tony realised he hadn’t tasted his yet, either. It was tart and sweet, raspberries rather than cranberries.

“I’m glad you like it,” Steve said in a rush, gesturing at the house. “I never... had a house before. It’s different.” 

Tony nodded and another awkward silence fell. Eventually he opened his mouth again, but nothing came out. He shut it again. 

The kitchen was nice, a big slab of granite as a broad counter against one wall. Mesh fronted cupboards holding mugs and stacks of plates. Pans hanging from the stove hood. Steve obviously cooked, there was the feel and smell of real food, here. Herbs growing on the window sill and a braid of garlic hanging next to the row of spoons and spatulas. Eggs in a row on the bottom shelf of a spice rack. 

“Well, I can’t stay all day, Master Tony. I think we should put our cards on the table.” 

Tony’s heart clenched dangerously, but he nodded, pushing his glass to one side to give himself room to lean his joined hands on the table. Steve sat up, and suddenly, there he was. The military man, waiting for his orders. Tony’s heart clenched for entirely different reasons. “There’s a whole lot of politics going on here, back in New York, in DC.”

Steve nodded, but looked pained, uncertain, and Tony shared a glance with Jarvis that told him absolutely nothing. “I negotiated hard for this. I... thought twice about it. Letting them send me an O, I mean,” he clarifies with an urgency Tony doesn’t quite understand. “I thought at first...it would be a disaster. I don’t sleep, I patrol the grounds armed, I’m...a terrible prospect.” 

Tony waited, fingers going white at the knuckles. He was deeply, fundamentally grateful for Rhodey’s PTSD advice at the enclave. He wanted to say-- he didn’t even know what would have come out of his mouth, but Steve wasn’t done talking. 

“But then I met Maria Stark.” 

Tony blinked in shock, his mouth open, and shot a glance at Jarvis, who looked unsurprised. 

“She said you needed me, so here I am.” 

“ _What?_ I need _you!?_ ” he exclaims, his restraint blown into little spiderweb fragments. “She said _you_ needed _me!_ ” Jarvis hid a laugh behind his fist but Tony was on to his ways, damnit, and turned on him. “Jarvis!” 

He cleared his throat and announced in his most proper tone that what they had was a “mutually beneficial relationship, sirs.”

Steve looked like he’d had all the stiff upper lip drained out of him, slumping loosely in his chair in a way that made it very clear that he lived in this space, while Tony felt like an over inflated airbag; stiff, awkward, and liable to outbursts. 

“I have shell shock, Tony, I’m going mad living out here on my own, but... I need the territory. The crowds back home were too much.” 

Shaking on a visceral level, Tony opened his mouth to confess, but it wouldn’t come out. He stopped, swallowed and tried again. 

“I was always supposed to be the head of SI, first omega to do it in a fortune 500, and my proxy tried to kill me. So. Yeah. House still smells like him.” 

Silence fell and Tony had the feeling that Steve was trying as hard as he was to not _freak out._

“Well, boys. I believe you are off to an excellent start. I’ll take my leave.” 

Tony turned incredulous eyes on Jarvis. “Are you kidding me?!” 

Jarvis patted him on the shoulder on his way past. “You’ve done the hardest part, Tony. Captain, no need for your perfume any more; I think you’ll find my charge rather more open minded than his father.” 

Tony bristled and twisted himself up to glare properly; of course he bloody was, how dare he. 

“You-- how did you _know?_ ” Steve said, sitting bolt upright. Tony turned his baffled glare on him, instead. 

“Ms. Carter had few allies after the war, but I count myself among them. I'll give her your thanks on Saturday, shall I? We're meeting for drinks in DC.” 

Steve seemed to shudder, like stepping into a warm room after being out in the cold. A relaxation that traveled from the nape of his neck to his hands on the table. If it hadn't been for that table, Tony was sure he'd have seen it travel all the way to his toes.

“I... Yeah, thank you. I had hoped to be...honest, but, knowing Mr. Stark,” Steve said, grimacing and looking away. Tony bit his tongue against the urge to interrupt. “I did wonder what Pegs was up to.”

“As always, Captain, you inspire to very best in people.” Jarvis smiled enigmatically and showed himself out, leaving them in another tense silence when the kitchen door closed with a puff of warm air. They listened to the front door close too, but the car was too far away to hear. Tony's brain was racing, trying to work out what on _earth_ he'd just been privy to.

“Um. Excuse me, I should go...wash.” Steve fumbled his glass as he stood, slipping in the condensation, and put it on the sink. “I’ll be right back.” 

And Tony was alone in a nice smelling kitchen with only the basil plants for company. 

“ _Wash?!_ ” Tony muttered grumpily to himself. “I’d know if you were wearing perfume, Steeeve,” he drawled to himself, dragging his dowry back into his arms and shoving his arm into the center of the roll, where he’d hidden his miniaturised satellite pager. A quick scan of his teletext revealed best wishes and a new chunk of advice on plains living from an O he’d barely met. Oh if the older O’s and Alpha establishment only knew about the mailing list. 

“You’d better have a garage, Steve, or I’m taking over your, your,” he sputtered grumpily, typing out his thanks with two thumbs and cursing the number two key for needing four presses to get to G. “I don’t know, a potting shed? Do you need a potting shed for tomatoes?”

“Do you always talk more to people when they’re not in the room?” 

Tony twitched like he’d been electrocuted and twisted around again--

Oh.

The pure alpha scent Steve had been pumping off was gone, lingering but diminished, and left behind was the comforting homely smell of a fellow omega. 

“Hey Tony.”

“What the _hell_ , Steve!” Tony gaped, his nerves vanishing abruptly and hands going slack, fumbling the pager. Steve walked over, visibly more relaxed, his shoulders soft. 

“Erskine never wanted anyone to know, back then, but... Serum only works on O’s with immune deficiency. He incorporated an extract, made all the politicers think I was an A out of the machine; it’s voluntary though. I don’t like...smelling like that.”

Tony pushed his chair back and scrambled to his feet, reaching out to touch Steve like he never would have dared before. He was soft skinned, his biceps pliant under Tony’s fingers, and being touched made his eyes flutter closed. Erskine, where did he know that name from... _Oh_. The serum scientist, one of the greatest names in genetics to be lost in the war.

“Oh my god. You're Captain America! You can’t be an _O._ ” 

Steve nodded, wincing. “I am though. Mr. Stark was there when I was-- uh, made. He thought I was changed completely. Why didn’t he tell you who you were negotiating with?” 

Tony batted the idea out if the air between them. “Dad doesn't tell me shit. I’m more surprised that Mom didn’t say anything, but then. You're classified at the highest level!” 

“But, negotiations finished months ago, someone really should have told you--” 

Tony realised with a giddy kind of awe that he didn't need to hold his tongue and not interrupt anymore, hah! “I was in seclusion by then, I haven't spoken to him since my debut.” 

Steve's eyes closed and he shivered very slightly under Tony's palms. He looked... Tired, actually. “I'd rather hear about you from you, anyway. My dad's files are horrible, he uses _Word_ , and spreadsheets it's awful.” 

Steve laughed wetly, his head tilting back and eyes closing for a second. “I was-- I crashed my plane, into sea ice. Punched right through into the arctic ocean. I froze, for--” he shuddered and Tony felt rising horror in the pit of his stomach. The skin under his hands was cool, Steve's fingers going white and bloodless. “I froze for fifty years. I-- time moved on. Without me.”

“Jesus Christ, that's fucked up, I'm so sorry...” He picked up Steve's right hand and it was as cold as it looked, white with stress. He pressed it into the crook of his neck, mushing his cheek against Steve's palm to try and warm it up. “C’mon, other hand, too.” 

Steve moved like he was still frozen, but he did give Tony his other hand, and then Tony was being cradled like a precious metal. He looked up and Steve's eyes were bottomless, the colour of the vast plains sky, drinking Tony in like a dying man.

“You’ve been living out here alone.” Tony let his hands slide up Steve's forearms, soothing and cautious. Goosebumps followed them and those depthless eyes flickered as a shocked breath parted Steve's lips.

Steve nodded, barely managing to keep his eyes open as Tony slid his hands up his shoulders. 

“No one to nest with, huh.”

“I wasn’t kidding when I said I’ve been going mad.” 

Tony laughed incredulously, his skin thrumming in empathy and pulled Steve down by the nape of his neck, hugging him like a proper omega. Steve’s big, alpha-shaped arms wrapped around him and squeezed until Tony's feet left the ground. Tony held him right back, as tight as he could, and pressed his cheek to the side of his head, golden hair silky-smooth against his lips. 

Steve shuddered under his hands, and this time Tony _knew_ what was going on, he’d felt this before, when he’d gone into seclusion; the release of a fundamental need to be near other people, the touching cure doing its work and turning Steve into jelly. He'd felt it himself. His parents hadn’t let him touch, and going into the enclave had been a revelation, a blessing, and now... He held Steve a little tighter, rubbing the heels of his hands into the twitching muscles over Steve’s back, cupping the back of his neck. 

‘ _You have power here, Tony._ ’ 

Yeah. He did. 

Poor fucking Steve, all on his own.

“Hey. We’re married, y’know?” Tony mumbled into Steve’s neck, nosing at the downy soft hair and breathing in his uncovered omega pheromones.

“...’s not real...” 

“It’s as real as we want it to be. Let’s be the first married Omegas in the country, Steve. Let’s just fucking do it.”


	2. So many hugs.

Steve clutched him tighter for a lovely, warm moment, then backed off enough to wipe his eyes. He was an ugly cryer; not much by the way of tears, and a whole lot of blotchy cheeks. It came as natural as breathing to smooth his palms over Steve’s overheated face, especially with Steve’s arms still circling his waist. He’d ended up sitting on the edge of the counter at some point, Steve between his knees. He had no objection. 

Steve was gonna need so many hugs. 

“You sure? You can stay here, even if you don’t want a, uh, a relationship--”

Tony shook his head, grinning like a madman as his whole future unspooled in his head, completely new and different. “As arranged marriages go, this couldn’t have gone better, Cap. God, you smell amazing, and I don’t have to bow my head to anyone but you ever again.”

Steve laughed wetly and hid his face in Tony’s shirt, fingers flexing on his shoulders.

“Oh hey, you’ll appreciate this,” Tony said, nice and soft. He wasn’t sure how much of the PTSD lectures applied to Steve, there had to be extra stress from hiding his gender, right? But he had one thing on him that he knew Steve would appreciate. “The enclave gave me something before I headed over here to ‘meet my other half’, it's in my dowry. You wanna see?” 

Steve nodded, smiling, and wow, he looked like the rising sun, but... Like a soft one, hazy through morning mist.

“I have a whole room just for nesting, Tony; I own a _house_ ; I still can’t-- I don’t believe it, I feel like they’re going to come and take it back. It’s too much; it’s like having a den with ensuite and kitchen,” Steve said with a hint of incredulous awe. He finally backed off some more, running a hand through his hair. Tony hopped back down off the counter now he had room, realising just how tall Steve was for an omega when he got to the floor. Jheese.

“Show me your nest, Steve. They can’t _have it._ You can have as much of my scent in there as you like,” he promised, grabbing his rolled-up dowry. When he held out a hand, not thinking about it, Steve stared for a moment too long, but took it. For a second, Tony felt like a kid, dragging his friend through the woods. He couldn’t remember Jan’s face any more, but the sense memory of her soft, chubby fingers in his was stronger. 

Thick oak boards, with marks where the carpet had been before Steve started work, creaked pleasantly underfoot, louder under Steve’s weight. The walls were freshly painted --you could just barely see the marks where Steve had filled holes though the first coat-- but the landing was more finished, carpeted in thick red pile and the walls opaque magnolia.

“In here. I did my best, knowing you were coming,” Steve said, like it was to excuse something. Behind the door was a bedroom with no bed, the mattress on a low platform and almost buried in drifts of cloth. Sheets, fleeces, padded quilting, but nothing handmade, and lots of it not even edge-finished. “I thought...uh. I was really dreading keeping it a secret. But now...”

Tony closed the door behind them. “Yeah, Steve, I know.” He looked around, considering. He could work an industrial sewing machine, he could hem all these, make some into quilted blankets. Yeah. His spirits lifted even more; Steve had made a really good nest, for someone pretending to be an alpha.

Tony dropped his dowry bundle on a thick rug and turned it over so the ribbons were in easy reach. 

“Here, help me unroll it,” he demanded. He’d never have let an Alpha see this, he’d have asked for privacy and laid it all out to its best advantage, but Steve was a glorious, beautiful omega, an ally against his parents, against Obie’s ghost-- Tony knew his biggest secret, they were _married._

“Did you-- before the serum, I guess, did you go into seclusion?” Tony asked, untying the first ribbon with fumbling fingers.

“I did. It’s where I got this idea, after, to try and marry another O. I had a fella in seclusion. Just a fling, I guess. We knew it wasn’t forever. Couldn’t have done that out of the temple, before. But now? All I did was go along with Pegs and...she paired me with you, so.”

Tony nodded. “She sure is something else.” He paused, the tail of a ribbon slipping silkily through his fingers, and couldn’t help but grin at nothing. “I know people who make arranged marriages work. I reckon the trick is to be friends.” He looked up, caught Steve’s eye. “I reckon we can do that, huh?”

Steve was blushing and-- ah. They were still holding hands. Steve lifted their hands and shook Tony’s arm gently. “Reckon we’re making a good start.” 

Awww, now that was touching, Tony’s heart went all warm and he screwed up his nose. “Yeah. I think I like you. Keeping a secret like this from _the entire nation_.” 

Steve’s grin turned rueful. “Habit?” He rubbed his jaw with his free hand. “It’s pretty... hard work. Galling.” He picked at the next ribbon and the roll started easing open at one end.

Tony nodded in fervent agreement. “I can believe it. I’m not exactly your typical O, putting on the act is just exhausting. Ding ding, out of fuel. Friend of mine said I’d need this for the first few weeks, keep the act up around you? They’d be thrilled to hear I wouldn’t have to, could share it with you, to know what you’ve managed.”

A final tug and the third ribbon popped open. They unrolled the dowry together. The thick quilt on the outside vanished as the sheep fleece winter throw expanded, and inside that, there were pillowcases and soft towels. Hidden in the last layer, a pair of cotton pyjama, was his pagers’ charger and his bag of sneaked treats. Gifts from the enclave. He pulled his hand free from Steve with an apologetic glance and unrolled the top of the candy bag, letting out the rich honey scent of aotémekale. 

Steve groaned like he’d been punched in the stomach and Tony hurried to pour out a golden candy and shove it in Steve’s direction. 

Steve put the piece in his mouth like he was afraid it would vanish if he was too slow. Tony took one too, less cautiously, and they both went silent, the honey-nectar flavour swamping out their tastebuds. 

Tony bumped their shoulders together and eased Steve down into the bedding, curled together like puppies, foreheads nearly touching. 

Tony felt like he was effervescing. 

“Oh m-my god, I thought- no one gives alphas aoté, just, ugh, whiskey. Beer. I had to keep making excuses not to drink.” Steve groaned, the candy clicking against his teeth as he rolled it around his mouth. 

Tony chuckled and huddled in closer as the candy hurried along the process of relaxing into his new nest, with his new husband. “Hey, you have an orchard, we could make our own, keep some bees,” Tony said. He knew nothing about apiary-ness, but if Sherlock Holmes could do it, fictionally, Tony was sure he could. 

He found himself running his palms over Steve's collarbones and shoulders, mesmerised by touch and the way Steve sunk steadily down into the bedding, drooping like a cat dozing off. “Look at you... How long has it been since you had someone who knew?” 

Steve hmmed, blinking slowly. “A year, three since I had a nest. I'm...a real mess, Tony. I'm sorry I've dragged you into this, I just needed...” 

Tony bit his lip, his chest tight and horrible. “Three years...” he whispered, reaching up to touch Steve's face. “Jheese, Steve, not even a bit of one?”

Steve closed his eyes. “Maybe. We were moving a lot, towards the end, chasing down leads.”

“Chasing Hydra.”

He swallowed and nodded like he was in pain. “I had a bedroll, a couple of blankets sewn into a bag. But that was it. A foxhole is almost a den, me and Buck--”

He choked up, body going rigid and the skin under Tony's hands flushing hot. He started making a wheezing, choking noise when he breathed in, too fast and barely breathing out again. His teeth were showing. Alpha scent crept out from under his collar, sharp and empty.

“Steve, what's going on--” Steve was in the middle of a-- a- _something_ awful; his chest froze and stopped drawing air, teeth clenched and bared, jaw muscles bunching-- “Steve, hey, listen to me, what's in your mouth? Tell me right now, what're you eating? What does it taste like?”

His jaw shifted and he nodded, tongue working. “Aoté. Honey, sugar, flowers. _Fuck._ I gotta-- Bucky died, he died a couple days before-- before I crashed.” He took a proper breath and crunched the candy with a look of intense focus.

Tony hugged him, shuffling until he could wrap his arms around those giant shoulders. “How long ago was that, for you? How long have you been awake?”

Steve tucked in close, hiding almost. “A year. No one but Peggy knows now, and I guess Jarvis.” 

“And me, Steve. You've got me. You never have to nest alone ever again, if you don't want to.”

Steve slung an arm over Tony's back and snugged them closer together, his fist tight in Tony’s shirt. The muscles in his arm buzzed with tension, then tremors when the tension eased off. Tony rubbed carefully over shoulders that could have been made of steel until they relaxed into a more natural hardness. Steve breathed deep against Tony’s throat and finally, his heart returned slowly back to normal.

Sweat had beaded on his temple, a little, and he was pale with what could only be tiredness --had he been sleeping? Could he, all alone?-- but he was relaxed again.

The fleeces and intricately crafted quilt of Tony's dowry were a home-scented cushion beneath them, and Tony hoped it had the same soothing effect on Steve as it did on him. 

“We can...get an alpha if you want, I have all this land, and no idea what to do with it,” Steve babbles, tension building again. “They sent me to this giant territory, it was a gift from the federal government, thinking I was an A, that I'd be building a big pack around...around you really, a military peacekeeping team, but-- I don't know what to do. I was never a commander. I don't-- war's over, so they tell me. But then they say I need a pack, to build a team...” 

“Maybe they just...think you shouldn’t be alone.” Tony sucked his aoté thoughtfully, rolling it over this tongue and letting the sweetness build. “I don't need an A, I really don't.” 

Steve deflates and tentatively returned to pressing his slightly sweaty head against Tony’s throat.

“I have friends who would keep your secret, if you want to... get to know them, without hiding. Not that I think you have to tell them! You can stay... um...” Tony stopped, shy and scenting Steve for comfort. “I’d like it if you’d meet with them, let me see them. I sure as hell need m-my Rhodey, and Pepper--”

“Of course they can come visit, Tony. Hell, we can even head into the city and meet up, if you need to. I... My type, its... complicated. It’s not a _lie_ to say I’m an Alpha, but it makes me...”

Tony bites his lip and rubs his fingers through Steve’s hair. 

“It’s painful. My body feels twisted and _wrong_. So, yes. I’d like to... tell them. Be open. You trust them?”

Tony wriggled back, enough to look Steve in the eye. “With my life, Steve.” When Steve smiled like this was cute, naive, and the shadows of the war he’d come out of darkened his expression, Tony shook his head and bumped Steve's chest with his open palm. “I'm serious, Steve, God, there's stories I gotta tell you, but, they _saved my life._ Physically stopped me from dying.” 

Steve hesitantly pulled him close, a different look in his eye, but this time one Tony couldn’t decipher. “Okay. Yeah, we'll talk about that sometime. Soon. Calm down, breathe.” 

Tony sucked furiously on the last sliver of aoté, concentrated on breathing steadily, and enjoyed the honey-and-violets tang until it vanished. 

“I know a few people like that, too. I get it. They're...too old for a-- our pack now, in their sixties, so you'll have to be in charge, OK?” 

Tony nodded. “How-- does the serum, no, sorry. That's the wrong question. How old are you?” 

Steve shifted, tucking his arms more comfortably around Tony's shoulders. “Twenty-six, and seventy-five, depending how you count it.” 

Tony huffed laughter into the warm space between them. “Okay. Here's what we're going to do. You request Col. James Rhodes, air force, for an ‘advancements in weapons technology’ briefing, OK? Do it next time you speak to your Commander. You have a boss, right? You didn't quit the military?” 

To Tony's relief, Steve shook his head. “I'm on leave, or in reserve, depending who you ask. My CO’s a fella by the name of Nick Fury.” 

Tony celebrated internally, and maybe some of it reached his face because Steve raised an eyebrow at him. “Nicky’s great, youngest black guy to hit command levels in SHIELD, he was our age when he turned Colonel. He’ll help.” 

“And this Pepper lady?” 

Tony grinned proper. “Pepper’s my ghost writer, applies for patents for my inventions for me, runs my life, or at least she did before seclusion. She'll be here whether you invite her or not.” 

Steve smiled like it hurt and then they were squashed together, Steve’s arms wrapping him up tight and pressing their chests together. Tony settled in by throwing a leg over Steve’s and tangling their ankles together. 

Steve’s heartbeat, and the slow rhythm of his breathing, felt good. _Really_ good. And he smelled good, now. His omega scent was warm and slow, a bit like rain on hot earth, and a bit like the smell of the green vine tiny tomatoes come on. There was a hint of Alpha when Tony nuzzled into his neck, near where you’d expect to find an A’s glands, but it was mild, and its purity made it somehow empty in comparison. 

“Peggy must love you, Mr. Stark, you’re made of gunpowder and steel, aint’cha.” 

Tony sputtered. “Well, she’d better, or I’m never making her another poison lipstick, which would be a crying shame.” 

“You make _poison lipstick?!_ ” 

Tony snuggled down in Steve’s arms, feeling smugly pleased with himself. “It’s not _lethal._ ” 

“Of course,” Steve muttered weakly. Like it was automatic, Steve put his hand on the back of Tony’s head and Tony found himself tucked securely into the crook of his neck, his nose on Steve’s strange, artificial scent gland. Tony went still and soft, eyes closed and feeling his eyelashes brush against Steve’s skin. He wondered if the gesture was learnt, how long he’d been using it to comfort and hush omegas. Whether the Howling Commandos had put their O’s on Steve to look after, with his big alpha shoulders. 

Whether anyone had guessed and done...this. 

He tilted his head back and gently fitted his teeth over Steve’s throat. Not the muscles, not where an O was supposed to bite, where the scent was rich and would coat your tongue, but over his adam's apple, where the breath he took rushed just under the skin. 

Tony stayed gentle; he _wasn’t_ an alpha, the gesture wasn’t dominant, but. 

It was. 

Steve’s shoulders shook, he swallowed under Tony’s tongue, he whimpered, but he also murmured his thanks. Slowly, like the melting of old ice, he relaxed. His head tilted back into Tony’s intricate quilt, his legs grew heavy, his spine curved into a slump. 

Yeah. 

Slowly slowly, Tony licked the faint teeth marks, soft indentations that vanished in moments without even going pink, and nuzzled submissively under Steve’s chin. The arm over his shoulder grew heavy, and his hair ruffled with the giant sigh Steve breathed. 

“That was...real nice. Thank you, Tony.” 

Tony nodded silently. Letting the shivering in Steve’s belly, a faint but perceptible trembling, fade away before speaking. “You’re welcome. We’re...in this together, I guess. I won't...” He stopped, the right word failing to present itself. He reached for an analogy instead. “The world is...kind of heavy. Even for big strong shoulders like these. So I’ll try and stand. Beside you?” 

Steve nodded once, firmly, against the top of Tony’s head. “Together, then.”

“How did you _do_ it, Steve? Alone out here for so long?” 

“It wasn’t that long...” he demurred, reshuffling his long limbs. Tony shifted a leg to let him. “Maybe, a month now? I’ve been in DC a lot. ‘Debriefing’.” 

“Was there actually a brief involved?” 

Steve groaned and squeezed Tony like a teddy bear. “ _Yes._ ” 

“How many pages?” 

“How big is the encyclopedia?” 

“Bloody hell.” 

“Oh now I _know_ you pal about with Pegs. _Christ._ ”


End file.
